Fallout: Paradise Found
by Rachael torie b
Summary: (SYOC) The year is 2229. In the Commonwealth, the discovery of third-gen synths plunges the people into a state of apt paranoia. For some, there's no getting out fast enough, and as lady luck would have it, would-be explorer Audra Brekker plans to provide a way. Join her on the hunt for America's oldest treasure, a perilous expedition into the land formerly known as paradise.
1. Chapter 1

The mechanical thunk thunk thunking of the protectrons up the littered aisles between the bookshelves was a test of Ace's nerves, and he took to rapping the toe of his boot against a broken terminal as a means of distraction. At any point, he expected that creepy swivel of their ocular lens and the heat of their laser blasters to zap past his head—or worse, into his head. He'd been zapped before, in other, less lethal places, and the burn was a bitch.

Speaking of bitches.

Audra tossed her mop of red hair out of her face, glaring hard at the map sprawled across the table in front of her. She didn't bother looking up. "Would you stop making that fucking noise?"

Ace slide his feet off the table and onto the floor, "I don't know how you can get two thoughts out with those metal heads clanking around."

The furrow between her dark brows deepened. "You're just scared of em'."

"Not scared. I don't trust something I can't talk to."

"They talk."

Ace set his gaze on the hard set of her jaw. "You're a piss today. The scribbles on that paper not pretty enough for you?"

She looked at him then, corners of those lips curling up. His stomach did a little lurch. "You found it."

"I found it." She peeled the map up, its edges browned and curling. He was surprised it looked as well as it did. A lot of things were on it, a lot of lines, a lot of names he didn't recognize. Audra traced her finger over a dirty, tiny blot, "This is it—The Fountain of Youth. It's at a place called St. Augustine in the Gulf Commonwealth."

Ace pinched the bridge of his nose. "What's left of the Gulf Commonwealth. Nobody goes down there, ever think that's for a reason? When will you quit chasing fucking fairytales, Red—you're a grown ass woman."

She narrowed her eyes, the gray color of them looking more stormy sky than crystal right then. "They're not fairytales when you're taking my caps. My father went there, it exists."

"He didn't come back either, did he?"

He could tell by the way she was looking, like a pack brahmin refusing to walk, that nothing he said was gonna take hold in that pretty little head of hers. It was tragic, what people did believing in their families. Another point in his favor for not having any.

He leaned back in the rickety desk chair, lighting up a cig from his pack. "I suppose you're gonna go tromping all that way by yourself then, huh, Red?"

Carefully, she began rolling up the map. "Not a chance. You're going with me, you and everyone else caps can buy."

He took a hardy drag before again releasing the smoke in a thick ring. "Least we'll all die somewhere warm."

* * *

Welcome to the SYOC, everyone! I've been on hiatus for a while now, but I decided I'd come back and give writing here another shot. This'll be my first story, submission one or otherwise, in the Fallout universe.

The premise the story is thus:

Set in June of 2229, a few short weeks after the Broken Mask incident in Diamond City and 58 years before the Sole Survivor emerges from Vault 111, Audra Brekker (woman in the intro above), daughter of mercenary and self-proclaimed explorer Daniel Brekker, finds the supposed location of the legendary Fountain of Youth on a pre-war map of the Gulf Commonwealth. Having grown up on tales of the mythical waters from her father, who ventured out into the ruins of Florida himself to find the fountain fifteen years prior and having presumably failed, she decides to take her small fortune of caps she inherited and set out on an expedition of her own. Her right-hand man Ace, a former slave turned raider turned mercenary, is unenthusiastic at the idea and the promise of near-certain death in the vicious swamplands. Despite his best instincts, he takes it upon himself to do Audra's bidding and begins to put together a team of the damned and the desperate, the reckless and the risky, and just the plain fuckbuckets of the Commonwealth to join them on their expedition into a land formerly known as paradise. That's where your characters come in. They can be former associates of Ace's, either from his raider days, someone who knows Audra, someone who happened to see the flyer left on the bounty board in Diamond City, or whatever else interesting you can think up. Your characters don't even have to be from the Commonwealth, so long as they have a reason for being there. Remember to keep the timeline in mind. (if you read all this necessary information, put the word fuckbucket somewhere in your submission form, plsandthankyou).

Please fill out the form below and submit it to me via private message, **NOT IN THE REVIEW SECTION. **For copy and paste purposes, the form will also be on my profile. Answer each question to the best of your ability and as it applies to your character. As for the characters themselves, make them interesting, make them flawed—this is Fallout. Not everyone is going to be a nice dude. Please give them unique personalities and backstories (I do love a good backstory, don't you?), and try to envision them as real people, or at least well-animated video game characters. And for the love of everything pure and sweet, use proper grammar and full sentences. I spend a lot of time going over forms, and I don't want a headache from trying to decipher a code that barely resembles English. As you can probably tell, this is not first-come, first-serve. The best, most well-developed characters will be accepted. Also, don't harass me if yours aren't accepted; it's nothing personal so do not take it as such. Make your own SYOC if you're unhappy with my decisions.

Also, legend has it that people who review have higher karma than those who don't.

* * *

**The Great and Mighty Form: **

Basics—

Name: (Please include any relevant nicknames or aliases)

Gender:

Age:

Race: (primarily human or ghoul, as third gen synths have not yet been perfected)

Physical—

Height:

Build:

Skin tone:

Facial Features: (what does their face look like?)

Eyes: (What do their eyes look like, what color are they?)

Scars/Handicaps:

Birthmarks/Tattoos/Make-up:

Clothes/Armor:

Mental—

Personality: (be descriptive)

Bad Habits: (like alcohol, cigarettes, chems, or any other vice)

Moral Character: (what do they believe in, do they lie and cheat, what sin would they never commit, how do they view right and wrong, etc.)

Outward Image: (how do they want others to see them? What façade do they put up? Is it an accurate representation of who they are on the inside?)

Self-Image: (how do they view themselves? Is it accurate to who they really are?)

Secrets: (what do they try to hide, what would they rather not have anyone know about themselves?)

Regrets: (What makes them guilty, if anything? Is there something that haunts them when they try to fall asleep?)

Ambitions: (What are their goals? What do they hope to achieve in life?)

Fears: (What thing, feeling, or situation makes your character shit their pants?)

Personal Life—

History/Backstory: (What happened to them in their past that makes them who they are? How did they get to this point in their lives?)

Factions: (Current and former)

Family: (Who are their family? Are they alive? Did your character have a good relationship with them?)

Friends: (Does your character have friends? Who are they? What kind of person does your character consider a friend?)

Lovers: (Has your character ever been in love? With whom? If ended, how did it end?)

Enemies: (Does your character have enemies? Who are they? How did they become enemies? What kind of person does your character consider an enemy?)

Sexuality: (What is their sexuality and what kind of person are they attracted to, sexually and otherwise?)

Occupation: (What do they normally do for a living?)

Equipment & Stats—

Weapons they own:

Weapon of choice:

Special Items Owned: (power armor, pipboy or whatever; don't be too OP)

Strengths: (What skills are they damn good at; MAX 4)

Weaknesses: (What skills are they not so good at; MIN 2-3)

S.P.E.C.I.A.L.: (40 points available)

Misc.—

Favorite Wasteland Snack:

Favorite Wasteland Drink:

Favorite Song from the radio broadcasts:

Quotes: (Dialogue your character would say)

Anything Else? (Did I forget something you'd like to include about your character? Say it here)


	2. A Wrench in the Noodles

_**Jaxon Sheppard, Power Noodles, Diamond City **_

Jaxon didn't much care for noodles. Really, he didn't, but the busy, run-down stand atop the power reactor in the _Great Green Jewel_ wasn't known for selling much anything else. He'd know because when he was new, he'd asked. Multiple times.

"Nan-ni shimasho-ka?" The protectron asked, its tone somewhat—who could tell, really—hopeful.

He swallowed a mouthful of bourbon, licking the last drop from his bottom lip. "Yeah, yeah."

Takahashi ambled away, its attention turned back to other, more willing patrons. The stand was full, the stools taken and the line backed up twenty paces, and Jaxon did his best to ignore them whilst keeping a watchful eye. It wasn't enough to have The Company after him—now there were machines that could pass off as men, or so the rumors went. It was all the good people of Diamond City could talk about. He didn't know if he would have believed it, the whole secret synth conspiracy if he weren't sitting in front of a brain matter stain that'd seeped into the side of the counter where one of the victims had been shot. Blood was so hard to get out of plaster. On the bright side, it couldn't possibly make the place look worse.

Jaxon's eyes scanned the crowd. It wasn't hard, after a while of killing and almost being killed, to pick out potential targets and threats. The man approaching him registered in the latter category faster than Jaxon could stop himself from moving to unholster his 9mm, faster than he could realize he knew who the man was. As Ace approached, the scar over his left eye cast into sharp relief by the neon Power Noodles sign, the other one looking too blue by comparison, Jaxon didn't take his hand off his gun. No amount of knowing someone could change the fact that life as a merc meant sometimes having to take those of people you could have called friends. You did what the contract demanded.

When he was close enough but not too close, Jaxon could make out Ace's drawl over the market's commotion. "I heard you were in town."

Watching the other man's movements, Jaxon took another liberal swing of his drink. "Now, who'd be saying that?"

A glint in his eye, Ace shoved his way up to the counter. All it took was one firm look directed at the wastelander next to him to have the poor fella swinging off the seat. Ace sat. "The body trail spoke for itself. I know your work."

Jaxon shrugged. "I heard you hung up your gun for some broad from out West. That true?"

Ace deflected. "It's damn fine work, Sheppard. I could use talent like you in an upcoming project."

Jaxon cast him an indifferent glance. It was a small relief Ace was here about a contract of his own, not on a contract itself. "How upcoming?"

"The next few weeks, a month and a half at the most," Ace hummed, sliding over Jaxon's neglected bowl of noodles, "I need a little time to gather the supplies and the men."

Ignoring the small theft, Jax considered. "What's the project?"

Ace spoke around a hearty mouthful of noodles, "Travel. Protection—a caravan, of sorts."

That answer didn't sit well with him. It was too vague. "And what sort of caravan might that be?"

"Of people and tools."

"What sort of tools?"

"The sort used for digging shit up."

"What kind of shit?'

Ace leveled him with a narrow look. "The kind of shit that isn't worth it to you or anybody else, the kind of shit that's liable to cause nothing but trouble, but it's shit that's gonna pay well and get you far out of the Company's crosshairs."

Jax snorted. "You're going to pay me well? That'd be a first."

Ace chewed hard. "Not me. You'll meet her."

"Well then," Jax lifted his bottle of bourbon, a slight grin at his lips, "I'll drink to digging shit up. It's been a long time since we shot things together."

Ace almost cracked a smile of his own. "It ain't been nearly long enough."

"I'll admit," Jaxon winced, fingers absently moving to a spot on his chest where there was a scar above his heart, "That last time could have gone better."

"Got the job done, though," he shrugged, "It ain't gonna be any easier this time around. A fuck ton of unknowns. That's why I'm trying to get as many people as I can, people who can do different things."

"This job, it isn't something you want to do, is it?"

"Fuck no," he shook his head, "But I gave my word."

"A raider's word don't mean shit—that's what you said to me."

Ace looked down at his scarred hands. "I guess I ain't feeling much like a raider these days."

Jaxon raised a brow, "You haven't been a raider for a long time, but I get it. Things that you used to be, they don't leave the same way they went in." That he knew from experience. What he wasn't sure about was if things like that ever left at all, but that was a drunken, 3 a.m. kind of question.

The other mercenary stood up, tossing down a couple of caps. They hit the counter with a jingle. "For the noodles—fucking disgusting, by the way. I'll be staying at the Dugout Inn for a while, til we've got a proper crew. If you got questions, head my way."

Jax nodded, sliding the caps one by one to the end of the counter, toward Takahashi. "I'll be there, that's the only decent place to sleep in this city. Heading over now?"

"Nope, got a few more stops to make."

"Alright. Be seeing you."

Ace nodded and disappeared back into the thinning crowd. Dark was setting in. People liked to be in their houses now, scared of boogiemen with faces that looked too much like theirs. He thought it was fitting—the scariest fucking thing, to him, was what he saw in the mirror too.

* * *

_**Kieran Gris, The Steel Wrench, Diamond City**_

"One-eye, drop that!"

The fat gray feline, back arched and the pack of mentats clutched tightly in its maws, froze at the sound of Kieran's voice. Its tail moved in tensed circles. Hands out, Kieran slowly approached him. The cat made a break for it.

Kieran skidded in his slip-on shoes, turning the corner of the shop too fast and almost ending up in a box of screws as he made haste to catch the feline thief. One-eye hopped over the counter, throwing himself off it and out into the throngs of Diamond City, Kieran's mentats still held captive in his mouth. Kieran burst out the shop's door, already planning the schematics for cat-sized handcuffs.

Outside, it was getting dark, which Kieran hated, and the voices of people still milling around the closing down market made the skin at the back of his neck crawl. He stayed near the doorway so that if anyone came upon him quickly, he could run back inside. You could never know when the enemy would choose to reveal itself.

"Looking for these?"

Kieran yelped, yanking the wrench from his apron pocket and brandishing it toward the source of the voice. It was a man, tall and wide, his face shadowed by the overhanging roof of the building next door.

"Stay back," Kieran swallowed, "I'm not afraid to hurt you."

Despite what Kieran had literally just asked—well, ordered—the figure came closer. In his left hand were the missing mentats, in his right hand was Marco's thieving cat.

"Lemon mentats, interesting." Ace tossed the small box to Kieran, who caught it against his chest with a thud. "Make em' yourself?"

"N—no," Kieran slipped them into his apron pocket, the wrench still gripped in his hand. "What are you doing here? Did they send you?"

"For fuck's sake, kid, I told you I'm not working with _them, _whoever the them is. Want your cat back?"

Kieran could feel sweat running down his back. "He's not my cat, he's Marco's cat." Quietly, he added, "One-eye looks like he could be your brother."

Ace scowled and dropped One-eye to the ground. The cat hissed and scrambled up over the counter. "Very fucking funny. Where is Marco, anyhow?"

Kieran gestured back inside the shop with his wrench, "He's in the room upstairs. Do you wish to speak with him?"

"No, I'm actually here for you."

Kieran's heart rate sped up. "You said—"

"Not like that. I need you to make up a gun for me. I'm going somewhere bad, and I want to make certain the reason I die ain't the fault of a broken piece."

Kieran titled his head, moving the wrench from one hand to the other. The shop was closed, so he really, really shouldn't be taking a customer, but he knew that customer, and he really, really wanted to know where Ace was off to and just why he needed an indestructible gun.

Chewing his bottom lip, Kieran replied, "Okay, but keep your hands where I can see them." He stepped backward into the shop, so he wouldn't leave himself vulnerable from behind. "And, uh, don't touch anything—I wouldn't want you to hurt yourself."

Ace followed him. "We wouldn't want that, would we."

Kieran frowned, kicking the box of screws from earlier out of the way. "Well, no. I doubt you're up to date on your vaccines." He pushed the door to the backroom open, all the crates and boxes providing a bit of resistance.

As Ace came over the threshold, he whistled. "Look at all that."

Kieran would admit, the workshop was untidy at the moment. Filled with guns, armor, tools, scraps of this and that, it was rarely ever tidy. He went over to his favorite workbench, pushing a cardboard box of gears off it and into the floor.

Over the bang, Kieran asked, "So, um, what is it you're looking for?"

Ace's face seemed to light up as he took in the inventory. "Whatever the hell you got. I need something that shoots fast and strong. I'm not sure what I'll be up against."

Kieran was intrigued. "More than one, maybe—different guns can do different things. Where are you, uh, going?" He wrung his hands, "So I can, maybe, tailor it to its environment."

Ace shrugged. "Who the fuck are you gonna tell—the Gulf Commonwealth, the ass end of it."

His mind whirred. "Isn't that all swamp? Why are you going?"

"You ask a lot of questions, kid. Can you get me the right gun or not?"

Kieran already had a couple of weapons in mind that he thought Ace might like, but he had other things in mind too. His curiosity was on fire. "Is Audra going with you?"

Ace frowned. "Yeah."

"You're going after her fountain, aren't you? Her fountain and her father. I want to come with you."

Ace rubbed a hand over his face. "Kid, that ain't a place for you."

Kieran shook his head vehemently, black hair flopping. "I can help you, build things, fix things—you'll need someone like me. I want to help find the things she lost."

"Why?"

He bit his bottom lip. Because he wanted to find the things he lost, too. "I want to see the Gulf. I—I like swamps."

Ace stared at him for a solid thirty seconds. "You get crazier by the fucking day but have it your way. I'll mark your name down on the list. Get together everything you need; we're rolling out in a few weeks' time."

Kieran reached behind him and grabbed a rifle off the gun rack on the wall. It was a custom piece, one Kieran had made himself. It had an advanced receiver, night vision scope, marksman's stock, and quick eject drum mag that was capable of firing incendiary rounds—it wasn't a light gun, but Ace was a big man.

Kieran thrust it at the mercenary. "On—well, on the house."

Ace gave him a slow smile. "I might just make sure you live through the trip, kid."

Kieran rubbed across his inner wrist, tracing the barcode tattoo there. "Um, thanks?"

* * *

Next chapter will introduce more characters. As the summary says, this SYOC is still open. Try not to make your submissions like those I've received and introduced. Please include how they get signed up on the expedition in the backstory section (or somewhere) on their form—why do they want to go traipsing off out of the Commonwealth? Also, send in more ladies! We need some female representation.

If all goes well, the submission date will be closing on Friday, the 17th of May. I go by central time in the US. Please, have your characters sent in by then.

If your character was in this chapter, leave me a review and tell me how I did. If your character wasn't in this chapter, leave me a review anyway—it's a nice gesture that is greatly appreciated. I want to hear your thoughts.


	3. CAST LIST - Author's Note

Without further ado, here is the cast list for _Fallout: Paradise Found_ ~

\- Audra Brekker

\- Ace

\- Kieran "Kern" Gris

\- Jaxon Sheppard

\- Octavia "Aves" Dahl

\- John Judas "JJ" Clydesden

\- Michael "Dorian" Flynn

\- Adrian Edinburgh

\- Bonnie

\- Jack Gilmore

* * *

I enjoyed reading through all the forms. Some of them really blew me away with the amount of detail put into it. I think we ended up with a reasonably balanced mix of characters, and I look forward to developing (*cough* torturing *cough*) them throughout the story. A big thanks to everyone who submitted, and to those who gave a little of their time to review, a very special thank you!

The next time I update, it will be with actual content (this chapter will eventually be deleted), but I wanted to quickly get it out there that submissions for "main" characters are officially closed. I am, however, **OPENING SUBMISSIONS **for flora & fauna headcanons of the Florida region of the Gulf Commonwealth, meaning if you have an idea for a giant irradiated swamp beast, man-eating plant, or a blood-thirsty native faction, you have the green light to shoot it over to me via PM. Use whatever format and however much detail you'd like.

If you didn't get to submit a character or if yours wasn't accepted, there may be further roles opening in the future. Give the story a follow, stick around to read the author's notes, and you'll be the first to know.

That said, until next time, wastelanders!


	4. A Minuteman, a Mad Doctor, and A Gun

_**JJ CLYDESDEN, DIAMOND CITY**_

It used to impress him, even put him into a state of awe—the great Diamond City. But that was back when JJ was a boy, fresh from the Crater, delirious from Stingwing venom and dehydration. He no longer felt any awe, only a deep-seated sense of weariness, an exhaustion not even a night's rest could right. Leather duster pulled tightly around him, he made his way to what amounted to a hole in the wall, otherwise known as Diamond City Security. Pushing open the metal door and entering, he decided that analogy was rather apt—the denizens within, the so-called security, were about as useful as molerats, but more lethargic. Ignoring the others, and the inmate lamenting his sorrows from the cell, he went straight to the head of security's office, a red-faced fellow named Brock Johnson. JJ didn't care for him.

As soon as JJ crested the corner and before he could open his mouth, Johnson held up his meaty palm. "Let me stop you right there, mister," he said from around the cigar protruding from his lips, "I don't know nothin' about no synth business. If you're here to make a complaint or ask any inquiries, you can turn right around. Me and the boys are doing all we can—we're up to our ears in it."

JJ reached into his duster, pulling out a stack of wrinkly, yellowed pages. With a little more force than necessary, he smacked them down on the big man's big desk. "Maybe since I cleared these bounties, you'll have more time to answer inquiries."

Forehead lines drawn together, Johnson grunted as he reached over the desk. He began thumbing through the bounties. His brows slowly inched up, cigar wobbling. "You kill all these raiders?"

"I didn't bring them back with me, did I?"

Johnson scowled. "I sure as hell hope not." He tugged on his top desk drawer. It was unsuccessful. After more grunting and some muttered curses, he banged on the side. The drawer popped open. One by one, he mournfully pulled out small bags of caps. "You're gonna set us back two months, kid."

JJ swiped the bags off the desk into his open and ready pack. "You'd do well not to call me kid."

Johnson gave him a nervous grin. "I'm older than dirt—everybody's a kid to me."

JJ tied his pack up and turned to leave, but Johnson called out, "If your trigger finger's still itching—or if you even need the caps, after all that—there's a man recruiting people like yourself to guard some sort of caravan headed down south. He's calling himself Ace, staying over at the Dugout Inn."

Back still turned, JJ nodded. He exited the dingy jail, pack a little heavier.

The Dugout Inn was always full, travelers, traders, mercenaries, barflies—ex-raiders. Some were all in one. He went up to the bar. A man with a scraggly beard, the bartender, presumably, appeared in front of him.

"What can I get you?"

"A man called Ace is staying here—is he currently in?"

The old man leaned forward, eyes widened. "You hear about The Big Job?" Vigorously, he rubbed at the cup in his grasp with a soiled looking towel. "I'd sign up myself—back in the day, I was a real fighter. I probably killed, oh, I dunno, a hundred people. I just liked shootin' em'. I could nail a fly on the wall. You ever kill anybody?"

JJ blinked at the bartender in disgust. "What room is he staying in?"

"First one around the corner, on the right."

JJ pushed off the bar.

"Wait!" The bartender called, "What do you do? What's the fancy skill that's gonna get you on?"

He didn't hesitate. "I kill bad people, people that like killing other people."

The bartender gulped. "I was, uh, just a joking with you. Earlier, I mean—I've never killed anybody."

He walked on. There wasn't the time to waste on talking to fools who bragged about murder, even ones they didn't commit. It put a bad taste in his mouth, much like this whole city. It was going downhill, had been even before Broken Mask. If you asked him, there was less to fear from robots than the people themselves. Murder was on the rise, paranoia mounting by the day. It was easy for him to take out raiders and supermutants, he knew how to deal with that, but neighbors taking up arms against neighbors, friends against friends… Bullets wouldn't fix it.

Outside the foretold door, he raised his fist to knock, but it was pulled in before his knuckle could make first contact. It was Ace—blue-eyed, one cut through with a scar, 6'3, dark hair, usually buzzed, left-handed. He memorized the distinguishing features of all the bounties he took, especially the ones he let walk away.

Ace cocked his head. "Can I help you?"

"I'm here about the job—you're hiring, correct?"

"That would be correct." He nodded toward his room, "Come in, have a sit, and we can talk over the details."

"I'm fine here. I've guarded caravans before. Word is you're heading south—how south?"

Ace arched a brow. "Pretty damn south. Do I know you from someplace?"

"No." JJ shook his head. He flexed the metal fingers on his left hand on instinct. "You don't."

"What's your name?"

"John Judas Clydesden."

"Can't say I can place it—what's your trade, John?"

Bristling internally at the use of his first name—he hadn't gone by John since the Crater—he ground his jaw, "Bounty hunter, mostly, but I know my way around a chemistry station."

"What kind of bounties do you take?"

"Raiders, gunners, supermutants, ferals, general nuisances of the Commonwealth." After considering for a moment, he added, "I do some work with the Minutemen, when I have the time."

"Uh-huh. Well, John, I'll write you down. Stick around these next few weeks. First payment's 1500 caps upfront, which'll be paid in full a few days prior to leaving. The rest'll be paid after the job is done, around 3500 caps. How does that sound?"

"Sufficient."

The former raider reached out to shake JJ's hand. "Man of few words, huh? Welcome to the team."

JJ hesitated before offering Ace his non-metal, flesh hand. He didn't care for the contact. He didn't care for the man himself.

"Thank you," he said through clenched teeth. Ace may have changed—he may have donned a different outfit, took on different kinds of jobs, but that didn't make him a different person. The farms were still razed, the scarred were still scarred, and the dead were still dead.

* * *

_**Adrian "Chauliac" Edinburgh, The Clinic, Goodneighbor **_

"How many stimpaks do you think we'll need to last us the trip?'

Edinburgh heard the question, yet it didn't quite register. She was zeroed in on a slide, peering down the barrel of a microscope, the only kind of barrel she liked to peer down, and it required complete and utter concentration. Such beautiful little germs, squirming around in what appeared to be exquisite misery. It could almost be a metaphor for the Commonwealth itself, if one liked to wax poetic on those kinds of things.

"Edinburgh, how many stimpaks?"

She wondered how that ghoul was faring after she exposed him to her new necrotic virus. Could a creature in such a pre-existing state of necrosis become more decayed? Would it advance the process, or have an entirely different effect? If only he stayed around for her to detail and catalog his journey. Ugh, the waste.

The snap of fingers directly by her left ear could not be ignored, even by her—it was that irritating. "What _is it_?"

"I said, twice, now a third time, how many stimpaks is enough stimpaks for the trip?" Audra asked, pen scratching away against the clipboard in her hands. "I want an invoice for everything, especially the medical supplies, in case of the likely event we're bringing some thieves with us."

Ever since the pair—Audra and Ace—had returned from the Boston Library, Edinburgh had had significantly less peace and quiet in her lab, even if they did bring back viable research material. Well, lab was a generous term; it was more of a pop-up clinic in the basement of a sketchy warehouse. Actually, that's exactly what it was. Its biggest sin, to her, was the poor lighting. She zoomed the microscope in further.

"One can never have enough stimpaks—that's why I'm making extra, and we still won't have enough."

Audra frowned, laying aside the clipboard. "You always know just what to say to put a girl at ease."

"Ease is a luxury seldom afforded by explorers such as ourselves." She switched slides to check up on single-celled bacteria she was growing, codename: Gary.

"So now you're sold on the whole explorer bit?"

"I am, and always have been, an explorer, perhaps not in nature, but in medicine and science, which are wholly more important, I think." She didn't like the way Gary was vibrating—it was almost like, well, he was dancing. Except single-celled bacteria didn't dance. They didn't do much of anything.

Audra smirked. "You're a regular angel of mercy, that's why you're banned from both Diamond City and Bunker Hill."

Edinburgh cleared her throat, "Misunderstandings." Gary split into two, not good.

"Right, right. I'll make sure to add 'Misunderstanding' to the cards on the fruit baskets to the families of the deceased."

"Sacrifices must be made in order to prolong the good of the whole." Gary was dying, not dancing. Had she fed him enough?

Audra's fist pump was both peppy and sarcastic, "For science."

Gary's abrupt and unexpected disintegration was complete. Honestly, her eyes felt a little misty. "Fuck."

Audra raised an arched brow, "Fuck?"

Adrian set up from the microscope, back popping as it straightened; well, it went as straight as it could. Good posture was also one of the sacrifices she made for science. "Gary perished."

"May he rest in peace. Do you want to have him a funeral?"

She turned her nose up at the suggestion. "Bacteria don't have funerals."

"Well, excuse me, I also didn't know they could die, so."

"Everything dies, Brekker."

"Did science teach you that?"

"Maybe not everything dies," Edinburgh sniffed, "But only if you have a magic fountain."

"Did you just make a joke? Shit, I better write this down—is the world ending for a second time? And to think I never found my magic fountain."

"Why do you people think you're likable? Why is that likable? I will never know."

Audra shrugged, flipping her thick red ponytail over her shoulder. "Am I likable? I thought people only stayed because I throw caps at them."

"The caps certainly help," Edinburgh mumbled, mind already turning back to matters of the lab. To be perfectly honest, they were behind schedule on nearly every aspect of the project. Ace hadn't yet gathered the people, thus making it difficult to ascertain just how many supplies they'd need. Gathering said supplies was like milking rocks—the Commonwealth was sorely lacking in developed resources. Every day, she was something just shy of shocked to see how badly it sucked above ground, all the more reason to buckle down on her research. The people needed her, even if they didn't know it. Even if they shunned her and called her evil and vile and callous and whatever else. Honestly, Edinburgh didn't think wastelanders knew that many adjectives, but the sentiment still applied.

But yes, the project, the great expedition into the unknown and purportedly terrible bowels of the Gulf Commonwealth. It was exciting, if not ill-advised, but what worthwhile ventures weren't? When Ace introduced her to Audra after their little trek from Bunker Hill, Edinburgh's first instinct, upon hearing the 'Fountain of Youth' proposal was to laugh and laugh, and then subject the woman to a case study on gauging the effects of newly synthesized chems on insane persons. Audra gracefully declined, but Edinburgh came around to the idea of exploration. Imagine the diseases present in a vicious and isolated swampland. Imagine what medicinal plants grew there. Imagine what the diseases she'd already studied could do to a native population with unprepared immune systems. It was… the perfect experiment, an ideal place to carry out her life's work. Surmising, of course, they got there without being extirpated by the rogue and dangerous variables of such an environment. That was what Ace and his guns, and whoever he dredged up, were for.

"When do you think Ace is coming back?"

"Two weeks or so, he said, but it could be longer." Audra sighed, toying with the ring hanging from the leather cord around her neck, "This stage is taking so much time. I want to be off already."

Edinburgh's own excitement mirrored that, but logic demanded patience. "Preparation is key. From what I've heard, the Gulf isn't a place one simply wanders into." Or out of.

"Too true. On the bright side, I've had plenty of time to spiff up some robots for the occasion. I call them Pack Assaultrons, combat efficient but modified to carry our shit."

She didn't bother to attempt concealing the alarm in her voice. "Robots are carrying our things?"

"How is that worse than a big, smelly brahmin? They couldn't make it to the Gulf: they'd attract too many predators, get stuck in the mud, they don't move very fast or follow orders, they get tired—the list could go on and on."

"I see your point," she conceded, "I'm simply not comfortable around them."

"You just don't like things you can't poke with needles."

Edinburgh tried to contest that statement, but alas it was true. She closed her mouth. Besides, there would be a wealth of things to poke with needles in the Gulf Commonwealth.

* * *

_**Octavia "Aves" Dahl, Diamond City Market **_

Bracing her hand against the shack wall to support her weight, Octavia yanked off her boot, shaking it with a vengeance until all the pebbles that had been slowly grinding holes into the sole of her foot for the better half of four hours fell to the ground. She nudged the offending rocks with her toe, "Though they may be small, they are mighty."

Looking up, boot returned to foot and cigarette returned to mouth, she inhaled the hearty scent of something frying. From the greasy but satisfying smell, it was Yao Guai. Her stomach rumbled in recognition. Fuel first. Following her nose, Octavia slipped through the market's crowds until she located the vendor. The meat jumped—the only instance she liked to see a Yao Guai jump— and sizzled in the skillet. After a few caps, it jumped straight into a ceramic bowl she held reverently between her hands.

Tossing her cigarette to the side, Octavia smiled at the big man with the butcher knife behind the counter, "Thanks."

He nodded, and she made away with her grub, sticking it with a plastic fork and shoving the crispy morsels into her mouth as she walked. Ear to the ground as always, it would have been impossible for her not to hear about the synth incident. It would have been impossible not to hear about it living under a rock. Except for the stain on the Power Noodles counter and the sweet, sweet scent of fear swirled with a tincture of paranoia, there were no signs that it'd happened at all left behind in the market square. She wondered what they did with the body. She would have liked to get her hands on it, see if it was as realistic as everybody was claiming.

Going past the general store, past the Iron Wrench—she made a mental note to stop by there later—her intention was to peruse the bounty board. That was her intention, but she couldn't even see it, much less get to it, with the crowd amassed around it. Licking the last of the gristle from the bowl, Octavia set it amongst a random vendor's wares. The woman gave her a dirty look, but she was already moving on, edging closer to the crowd.

Mostly men, mostly the "dangerous" type, or as dangerous as dangerous went in Diamond City. She recognized a few faces from the scrapper circles. There were exclamations of caps, of travel, of caravans—all exciting things, though she was mainly concerned with the lattermost one. About to be elbow deep in a very harry man's backfat rolls, she noticed two men loitering off to the side. Unlike the others, they weren't clamoring to see what promising words were pasted across the bounty board's illustrious front—they were having a conversation, passing a cigarette back and forth. She watched them watch the crowd with keen interest. These men, one with a sniper rifle thrown across his back that mirrored her own, the other with a scar through one eye, well, she would bet good caps they weren't the Diamond City kind of dangerous, and judging by their demeanor, they were either a part of this big, mysterious job already, or it was their big, mysterious job.

Cutting around the rowdy group of wannabe adventurers, Octavia made a sharp beeline for the heavily armed pair. She kept a smile on her face and the reminder that they probably wouldn't shoot at her with Diamond City security so close in her head as she approached. As she figured, the light-haired one with the sniper rifle noticed her first. He nudged the dark-haired, scarred one, and he stamped out the cigarette with the heel of his combat boot. She had their attention.

"Hello boys," she said, stopping a few feet back, "Either of you know about the job everybody's flapping about?"

"We might," replied the scarred one while the sniper eyed her cautiously, "What makes you think we're the ones to talk to?"

She nodded toward the crowd. "A lucky guess. I figure if you weren't, you'd be the first ones at that board."

"You figured right." The scarred one pushed off the wall, coming towards her. Octavia had to tilt back her head to look him in the eye. He held out his hand, "Ace, expedition manager."

She took it, shaking firmly and filing away the fact he went by a gang name for later. "Octavia."

Ace gestured to the man behind him. "That's Jaxon Sheppard, a…," He hesitated, "An associate." From his position reclined back against the wall, Jaxon gave her a nod that she returned.

"Expedition?" She clicked her tongue, "Now that's a term you don't hear a lot these days."

"It's the only one that's accurate."

She tilted her head, "I thought it was a caravan."

"Of sorts."

"That's vague," she accused.

The corners of his mouth edged up. "We don't want anybody turning tail."

"Is it that bad? Lemme guess—The Glowing Sea?"

He shook his head. "Nope. We're headed south."

"South," she hummed, "I've been meaning to work on my tan."

"Then you're in?"

"What's the pay?"

"1500 upfront, 3500 after for the guns." His gaze went to the .50 caliber sniper rifle strapped over her shoulder. "You're a gun, I take it?"

"Sure." It was quicker to say that. "Count me in."

He cracked a quick smile. "Atta girl. Jax and me are staying over the Dugout Inn, you know it?" She nodded. "We're pulling out in two, three weeks. We'll all meet there."

That was longer than she'd like to stay in Diamond City. That was longer than she liked to stay anywhere, but if the circumstances demanded, so be it. "I'll be there."

"Good." He stopped, looked to Jaxon and then back to her, "What do you say about a smaller job before then?"

Octavia raised her brows, curiosity piqued, "What's it entail?"

"Nothing serious—you and Jax would work as back up, case things don't turn out nice as I'd like. Quick way to earn 400 caps."

That sounded innocuous enough, but things that sounded like that rarely went to plan. "Say things don't turn out nice, just for shits and giggles. Who're we shooting at?"

"They call themselves the Grey Rangers, and take it from me, shooting at them is the last thing you wanna do."

"Then why are you messing with them? Doesn't seem smart, since you're so intimidated."

He cocked a brow at her jibe. "I don't mean to mess with them. I mean to hire them."

"For the expedition," she concluded, "Don't you have enough guns?"

"For where we're going, we'll need all the guns we can get."

* * *

More characters will be introduced next chapter and that should be the last of the introductions for a while. For the mains, anyway.

Please give me your thoughts, opinions, and ideas on this one! If your character was featured, why not tell me how I did writing them or how I could improve it. Reviews butter my bread, really.

Again, until next time!


	5. Grey Rangers, Green Dildos

_**Michael "Dorian" Flynn, Hangman's Alley **_

Dorian woke up before the sun. The pale dawn was still, the only sound the distant echo of gunfire. If he had to guess, it was Diamond City Security fending against the never-ending tide of mutants. He appreciated the noise. It distracted him from the screams reverberating inside his head, residue left over from a familiar dream. Blinking away the last of sleep and the static-riddled memories of that small boy's lifeless body, an image he was all too ready to push out, he dressed. The first article he donned was the gloves, which was unusual—he almost always wore them to bed the night before. Thick and lined with lead, the dark fabric smothered the radioactive green glow leaking through the torn flesh of his hands and forearms. Flexing his fingers, he took comfort in the barrier that covered them and quickly finished getting ready.

Exiting the lean-to he'd claimed as his, the camp was unoccupied, the fire under the cook station burning low. All but one of the crew were still asleep—Harding, who was on lookout duty—one of the reasons he liked getting up so early. Being alone let him think, even if allowing his mind to roam meant it revisited old, dark places. It was good. Forgetting let those who were lost die twice.

He stoked the fire, sending the flames up and into a crackle. While he was at it, he put a brahmin stew on a simmer for later. Last time Lachlan had cooked, Dorian was certain the end to his 100 plus years of life had finally come. _Cooking was only chemistry, _his ass.

"Boss," Harding's voice floated down from the guard tower on top of one of the old buildings, "Possible hostiles steadily approaching from the Southeast corridor, two male, one female—all armed."

Dorian continued to slice a carrot into the stew, posture unconcerned. "Raiders?"

Harding peered through her scope. "They don't appear to be. Travelers or mercenaries I would say. Do you want me to fire a warning shot?"

Dorian scraped the knife down the cutting board, swiping the chunks into the bubbling pot. "No. Let's find out what they want."

Harding shifted. "How do you know they want anything?"

He cleaned the knife, laying it aside. "A hunch."

Abated, she settled back into her perch, but he noticed her finger didn't leave the trigger. He understood the caution; three armed intruders appearing in the half-light, when everyone's guard is down, would be cause for alarm. But there were only three, and the fact they approached in the open, no weapons drawn, indicated their intentions weren't to storm the place. If those were their intentions, they were going about it all wrong, and it wouldn't be much of a problem for long. The others were up now, anyway—they'd no doubt heard he and Harding talking.

"Something going on?" Levi asked, his broad shoulders nearly filling the whole doorway to the prefab he'd emerged from, shotgun in his grasp.

"No," replied Dorian, "Only a few visitors."

"Should we go say hello?" Lachlan asked, Diane armed and ready at his side.

Dorian considered. "I'll greet them on my own."

Diane nodded, "We've got your back."

Placing the lid back on the stew, Dorian retrieved his rifle. He made sure to disarm the heavy machine gun turrets lining the building fronts before slipping out into the maze of alleys that made up the Fens. A map of the area in his head, one he could follow even if he were blind, deaf, and dumb, he cut around one corner, two—and there they were, the armed trio. Knowing Harding and Diane, now, had clear visuals on the small pack, and confident in his own abilities to quickly discharge a firearm, Dorian was going to call out to them, announce his presence, but he didn't need to.

The blond-haired man on the end of the group, gravel under his boots crunching as he turned, had his sniper rifle swung around and aimed at Dorian in an ordinately impressive amount of time. A second sniper, the female dressed in an old-style military coat with a long auburn braid down her back, quickly followed suit.

"Well, I'll be damned," the female said, "Now that's a ghoul with some hair. You ever seen a ghoul with that much hair?"

On closer inspection, Dorian recognized the two men—Jaxon Sheppard, a man who appeared mysteriously in the Commonwealth a decade back and Ace, who earned his moniker as a raider for his penchant for staging rigged, blood-soaked gambling games until he went West and returned reformed. Both were mercenaries now, well-known to the area, efficient and successful, and both had stolen jobs from the Grey Rangers on more than one occasion. Luckily for them, Dorian wasn't feeling vengeful, but depending now how this little encounter went, that could change. The woman was unknown to him, a potential wildcard. He resolved to keep an eye on her.

"Can't say I have," Sheppard said, grip completely steady on his rifle, stance completely correct. Dorian wondered at his training—former 1st Recon perhaps, not many of them in these parts.

"Dorian Flynn," he introduced himself, unbothered by the hostile stances of his guests, "Leader of the Grey Rangers. Is there some business I can assist you with?"

"Lower your guns," Ace said. Interesting. Dorian didn't think he would assume the role of peacekeeper, considering his past, "Matter of fact, there is. I'd like to hire you, and your men, for a job."

"How thoughtful of you. I have heard of the job, the great exodus out of the Commonwealth, but I'll have to decline, seeing as how I know you don't have any money, and the Grey Rangers do not come cheaply."

"I don't," he agreed, "but the person I'm working for does, and she'll pay whatever price you ask."

"Her?" He gestured at the auburn-haired sniper, who gave him a wink and a smile, the thin vertical scars across the right side of her mouth stretching.

"Nope, she's over in Goodneighbor—name's Audra Brekker. I doubt you know her, but all you need to know is she's got the caps to back this whole thing up."

"If she's the boss, then why am I talking to you?"

Ace paused, "She trusts me to get who we need."

"An obvious lack of good judgment on her part." He brought his rifle a little higher. "Does she know what happens to the people who trust you?"

The two snipers reacted, bringing up their weapons, no doubt ready to fire them. Ace held his ground. "This ain't about me, it's about the job—are you gonna take it, or is the reputation of the Grey Rangers' all bullshit?"

The sun had fully risen, and he could see the glint of Harding's barrel over the awning on the building. There was no breeze, nothing and no one moved. With a twitch of his fingers, the little group of visitors could be dead. It would be one of the easiest things he did today.

Moving without hurry, he lowered his gun and eased into a relaxed stance. "I'll find you when it's time, and when I do, I expect to be paid in full." It was too early in the day for dragging bodies out of the road. Besides, it had been a longtime since he'd taken a vacation.

Ace scowled. "Nobody gets paid in full before the job's done."

Dorian smiled, and it was cold. "The Grey Rangers do."

* * *

_**Jack Gilmore, The Fens**_

He was crouched down behind a rusted old car, not the best place to be, not with super mutants firing off rounds and yells of "_Die humans!"_ in their general direction. He hoped, really, really hoped, it didn't go boom. At his arm, Bonnie shifted restlessly, her R91 clutched in her grasp.

"Jaaack," her plaintiff tone was audible over the clamor of the mutants, "You said, when we took the caravan to the big green city, we'd get Nuka-Colas."

Jack peered out around the bumper just in time to see a Diamond City guard eat a Molotov. The man went down screaming, the flames licking across his face and torso. He winced. "And we will, just later after all these big dildos eat dust."

He, Bonnie, and a handful of other guards had managed to get the caravan to Diamond City without much of a hitch. It was terribly ironic, then, the most trouble they would face would be at their final destination. Somehow, it didn't surprise him too much. A part of him bitched that it was no longer his problem, but the other, bigger part won out. It would have to be taken care of before anyone got back in the city, regardless.

"Dildo?"

"Don't repeat that." He opened the chamber of his 44 Magnum revolver, quickly reloading and snapping it closed. "See that mass of sandbags over there, a little closer to the wall?" She nodded, bangs flipping into her blue eyes—he'd have to trim them up soon. "That's where we're going, on the count of three. One. Two—Bonnie!"

On the count of two, she'd made a break for it, zipping past him, his hand grabbing uselessly for the strap of her rucksack. Scrambling up, Jack rushed into the line of fire after her, firing his revolver at the greenies. Many of them were out of range, but he'd settle for drawing their attention. Bonnie's rifle popped and popped, smattering across the big target a mutant's broad chest made. Blood poured from its wounds, and the creature roared, rushing at the girl who appeared a doll in size comparisons. She went down, dropping and rolling right between its legs, shooting more bullets into its back. It crashed, thudding to the ground.

Jack heard a growl. He barely had time to deflect as the ugly wrinkled face and teeth-filled maw of a mutant hound sailed past him, its bite just missing his throat, hot saliva splattering against the side of his face. It smelled like a mixture of old socks and rotting wounds. The hound howled long and loud, every muscle in its back tightening for round two.

"Bad dog." A bullet from his revolver blasted into the convoluted canine's skull. Its heavy body, mid-air, fell to the cracked pavement, limp and lifeless. And that's when he heard Bonnie cry out.

A super mutant had clipped her across the side with a wooden board. Though it was a wild swing, an uncoordinated flail that had only just managed to catch her, the impact sent her small form flying. She hit the fender of the old car, crumpling against it.

"Bonnie!" One of the guards from the caravan went to her, a man that had introduced himself as Samson Graham. He pressed a hand to her throat, checking for a pulse—he tossed Jack a quick thumbs up.

Jack fired at the mutant responsible, but his revolver clicked and clicked again. He groaned. What a novice and uncharacteristic mistake—he always counted how many bullets he'd shot, how many were left in the chamber, but in his Bonnie-induced panic, he'd let it slip. The mutant rushed him, leading with the board and roaring. Grabbing the board or attempting to slow it was out of the question; he couldn't raise his left arm that high, anyway. Instead, he held his ground until the mutant's roar vibrated in his ears and he could see his own reflection in its dark, beady eyes. The board arced over him. He feinted to the right, and as he did, he plunged the blade of his combat knife into the thing's gut, tearing as he went. It was like stabbing into armor—he thanked Atom, or whoever, that the knife didn't break. He had to use all his strength, the resistance burning in his arms.

The mutant swatted at his passing form, stumbling back. It was still very much alive, alive and pissed. It pulled the knife from its gaping gut and hurled it to the side. It opened its big mouth to shout or growl out its displeasure, but Jack would never know. Its head exploded.

As he skidded over to Bonnie and Graham, he took the opportunity to reload. Bonnie was still unconscious, making her look even younger and more innocent. Graham had placed a rag that he whipped out of who knew where over the slight laceration on her forehead, created by the impact of hitting the car's unforgiving frame. He knew even minor head wounds bled a lot, but that didn't mean he liked to see it.

"The Lord is on your side today," Graham said, smiling in a way that was somehow off-putting.

Jack scanned the closest vantage points for the sniper, listening to the unending rounds of the security turrets. "If the Lord carries a sniper rifle, he can be on my side any day. My kinda help from above."

Graham's smile dimmed a watt, but it did not cease. The shots of the mystery sniper continued to echo across the street. He wondered what the fair people of Diamond City must be thinking right then. He wondered if they even cared what happened to those outside their precious wall, but it was those outside, security and folks like himself, that made them safe, not the wall.

The turret stopped, the roaring as well. The unsettling sound of silence rolled in.

He poked his head back up, 44 at the ready. The super mutants and their hounds all lay dead. Several of the members of the caravan and city guards had met the same fate. Jack grimaced and looked back to Bonnie. She'd been lucky, unlike the others. He moved her bangs out of her face, comforted by the fact he could feel her breath on his hand. She seemed to be coming to.

Graham pointed ahead. "Look!"

He looked. There were people scaling down from one of the nearby dilapidated buildings. From the distance, not much could be made out about them, but Jack recognized the rifles two of them were carrying—his mystery snipers.

He gave Graham a shit-eating grin. "And here cometh the Lord. Err, lords?"

* * *

_**Bonnie, Diamond City**_

Her head felt like it was splitting open. She knew what that felt like because she was pretty sure it'd happened once before, but that was a long time ago, and she didn't want to think about it. Before she opened her eyes, she heard the voices. Most importantly, she heard Jack's voice. There was something wet on her head, possibly blood but it felt cold, and she wanted to get it off, but if she moved, Jack would know she was awake. If he knew she was awake, he would be angry at her for not listening to him and he might yell. The thought of it alone had her heart pounding.

She didn't hear shooting anymore, only the voices. Jack's voice, that man with the tight white collar who always bared his teeth at her (Jack called it smiling wide), Sam something, and some strangers.

"You handled yourself pretty well," said a woman stranger with a music-like lilt to her voice, "Most people don't stare them down like that. Most people get eaten."

"What can I say," Jack responded, and she could tell he was flirting. Bonnie didn't like this woman stranger already, "I guess I just don't taste very good." She felt him shift beside her.

"It's a miracle you fine wanderers showed up when you did," the Sam man said. "I fear the rest of our caravan might've been lost."

"It's a shame we couldn't have got here sooner," said the woman, "What's wrong with the little girl?"

Bonnie's gut twisted in anger. She was _NOT _a little girl—she was a full fifteen. Jack ruffled her hair gently. It made her feel calmer. "She hit her head, but she'll be okay. Kid's tough as steel."

A male stranger said, quietly, "The road isn't a place for children."

Not a child—what was wrong with these dildos?

"Don't let her size fool you," Jack said, "She gave these greenies quite a fight." Bonnie could feel her cheeks getting warm.

"I've seen it," the Sam man said, "The girl is…hmm, what's the word. Not savage. Ferocious, yes, let's go with ferocious, in combat."

The other man made a noncommittal grunt.

"We should get inside." It was another stranger. All these new people, it made Bonnie's skin itch and crawl. "Security's bound to send a crew to get their boys and the rest."

"Good idea," said Jack. He nudged her shoulder. "Rise and shine, Bonnie—I know you're awake."

Her heart stuttered. How did he know?

"Bonnie."

She braced herself, opening one eye before the other. Jack's hazel ones twinkled back at her, strands of his dark brown hair escaping whatever crap he put on it to make it be held back like that. He didn't look mad. Behind him was the Sam man, collar looking tight as ever, and the three strangers, two of them men, the other the woman she didn't like, who Bonnie would admit had some very pretty, braided hair. It was so long you could probably strangle someone with it.

Bonnie let Jack help pull her to her feet. She wobbled only a little, but it was okay—he'd catch her if she fell. She angled herself so he was between her and the new people.

He gave a little smile, "Let's go get those Nuka-Colas now, okay?"

Diamond City had no diamonds. It should have been called People City because there sure was a lot of them. She kept a hold of Jack's arm like it was a lifeline; he would never leave her in a place like this, especially if he didn't have the chance to. She didn't understand why the strangers were coming with them. She wished Jack would just stop talking to them. Maybe then they'd go away. They would go away if she shot at them, she would bet, but that would make Jack real mad.

The strangers never left. Instead, she and Jack and the Sam man followed them all the way to a bar with an inn inside of it.

"No," Jack explained with that easy grin of his that showed up when he was only joking, "It's an inn with a bar."

Bonnie regarded him with a blank stare. She didn't care what it was. It was crowded, dark, and stinky, and she didn't like it very much. It's where the three strangers, who she now knew were called Octavia, Jaxon and Ace, lived. She thought it looked like a place they would live in.

They went up to the bar. Jack pulled out the stool for her, and she sat, albeit a bit sulkily. The lighting in this place made her head hurt worse.

"Nuka-Cola and Squirrel Bits, right?" He asked, pulling out his pouch of caps from inside his big leather coat.

"Yes," she all but whispered.

Jack ordered for her, adding on a Nuka-Cola for himself. The Sam man tried to order a Sunset Sarsaparilla, but the old barman said they didn't have any of those up here in the Commonwealth. The woman with the pretty braid, Octavia, ordered a Nuka-Cherry. The other two got alcohol, which Bonnie had never liked much. It had always burned all the way down; she could never walk straight after drinking it, either.

And they drank and they talked and they drank some more. Jack dazzled them all with tales of what had happened on the caravan journey to the Commonwealth, much of which she knew for a fact was just made up. By some point, everyone was drinking alcohol but her, and they all found it very funny that the Sam man was drunk.

"Why's it funny?" She asked.

Jack tipped back his whiskey. "Because he's a man of God, one of them New Canaanites." She still didn't think it was funny.

Much later—and she knew it was because her butt felt numb and the light streaming in through the windows was much dimmer—Jack told the others, "Don't think I'm not glad for making to the city, but boys—ladies—I'm freshly unemployed, so the next round is not on me."

"That's enough for me, anyway," the one they were all calling Jaxon said. He and Octavia hadn't been drinking as much as the others from the start. Bonnie got the feeling they were the cautious ones, or maybe it made them where they couldn't walk straight, too.

"Suit yourself." Ace, the one who looked like he was constantly winking because he only had one good eye, waved down the bartender, "Another round," he gestured to Jaxon, "but cut him out. Ready for another, priest-y?"

Sam man blinked. "I…I…I'm not—well, I'm not—"

"Spit it out," Ace said.

"A priest." Sam man's face was very red. "I'm not an, not a priest, not really. I try to spread the word."

"Funny thing for you to want to do," Octavia smiled, clinking a fingernail against her empty, soon-to-be-filled glass, "Considering how you're not using your words very well right now."

Jack chimed in, "Oh, he's usually much better. From how much talking he did on the way up here, I could probably recite his verses."

Sam man brightened. "Then the wordses have touched—" he hiccuped, "you."

"Hate to break it you, buddy, but I've always been a little 'touched.' Isn't that right, Bonnie?" She wasn't sure what she was supposed to say, so she simply nodded. It seemed to be good enough because Jack beamed at her before carrying on his conversation.

"So," Ace turned towards Jack, "You're unemployed."

"I happen to find that to be the case, yes."

"Well, Jack, it's your lucky day—I happen to find myself to be in a place of employing the unemployed. You already know the ropes, guarding the goods, making sure a group of traveling folks get from one end to the other. It don't hurt nothing that the pay's good, too. It's 1500 caps just for upfront payment."

Jack grinned big, "You had me at lucky day. Where are we traveling to?"

"Now that's the thing," Ace made a face, "Can't tell you 'til later, but it's far. And hot."

Jack turned to her, "Sounds like the West, doesn't it, Bonnie?"

She agreed that it did. All Ace said was, "There's a little more water."

"Can't have too much water," Jack quipped. "Sign us up."

Octavia leaned over, quirking a judgmental brow. "Isn't she a little young for that sort of thing?" Bonnie really didn't like her.

"Nah," was his reply.

Sam man cleared his throat to get their attention, and then he did it two more times. "I'd like to go on this venture as well. The more people I can teach the word, the better."

Jaxon shifted on his stool, "No offense, but I doubt there'll be the resources to expend on someone who's coming along just to 'teach the word.'"

"Well," the not priest began hesitantly, "I can also shoot, pretty well, I would say, though not to boast." He looked at them hopefully. "I've also studied medicine, I can live off the land."

Ace downed his glass and slammed it back down on the bar. He swayed slightly in his seat. "The priest is in, Jack is in, Bonnie's in. My ladies and louses, I do think we're close to ready."

Jack raised his glass, a wild grin painted over his sharp features—it was his getting into trouble grin, and Bonnie sighed on the inside. "I'll drink to that!"

* * *

**The Amended Cast List:**

**_\- Audra Brekker _**

**_\- Ace _**

**_\- Kieran Gris _**

**_\- Jaxon Sheppard _**

**_\- Octavia Dahl _**

**_\- Adrian Edinburgh_**

**_\- JJ Clydesden _**

**_\- Dorian Flynn_**

**_\- Jack Gilmore_**

**_\- Bonnie_**

**_\- Samson Graham _**

* * *

I do apologize for the typos that probably slipped through - I wrote the majority of this in one sitting, and to be honest, I didn't really go back over it. If there's any glaring mistakes, you can kindly point them out to me in a respectful manner and I'll try to go back in and correct things.

Again, tell me how I wrote your character! Feedback is oh so helpful to me. Also, other than your own, who is a character you really like so far? You can pick more than one, if you'd like.

I'm so excited for this to be kicking off. Next chapter will be them all getting ready to go and a final hurrah in the Commonwealth. WOOT, WOOT, excitement. Until next time, louses!

(Also, I deeply apologize for the title of this chapter. I couldn't resist.)


End file.
